


Whatever We Lose

by Mockingbirdblues



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Beau is a bro, E99 but make it soft, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, This isn't how the spell works and I don't care, heavy on the comfort, there's no angst only cuddling, they'll get there, they're both dumb and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23427721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mockingbirdblues/pseuds/Mockingbirdblues
Summary: The ritual takes all night. In the grand scheme, it’s nothing. A night, to bring back a life? Easy.It’s the longest night of Caduceus' considerably long life.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Comments: 13
Kudos: 120





	Whatever We Lose

**"For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)**  
**it's always ourselves we find in the sea."**

**-E.E. Cummings, _Maggie and Millie and Molly and May_**

The ritual takes all night. In the grand scheme, it’s nothing. A night, to bring back a life? Easy. 

It’s the longest night of Caduceus' considerably long life. 

They get Fjord below deck as soon as gentle repose buys them time. The blood and the rain and the seawater make it hard to get the runes right, so Caleb helps, muttering to himself all the while. When they’re ready, Jester presses a diamond into Caduceus' hand and Caduceus presses the gem into the wound Uk’otoa’s minion left. He tries to be gentle with Fjord’s fractured ribs and his shredded lungs and all the other fragile parts of him that are not supposed to see the light of day. The runes come to life and glow softly, green-gold like sun through spring leaves, and then all they can do is wait. 

Caduceus doesn’t need to stay. The magic doesn’t need him and his presence will not speed up the process, but nobody dares to suggest he leave. He sits with his back pressed to the ship, wet and bloody himself, trying to drown in meditation so he cannot imagine what will happen if the spell doesn’t work, if the Wildmother cannot find Fjord beyond the veil, if he hadn’t been fast enough…

The rest of the Mighty Nein shuffle in and out. Caleb stays while Beau and Jester keep watch above deck and Nott and Yasha sleep. Then Yasha sits quietly and solemnly while Caleb keeps watch with Nott and Jester and Beau sleep, and then Jester is there, and later Beau is there, and then Caleb again. Caduceus does not open his eyes for any of them. He knows them by their footsteps and their breathing and the way their presence fills a room. 

The sound of Caleb fussing nervously with the scar on his palm tells Caduceus that dawn is approaching. He allows himself another degree of awareness and realizes Frumpkin has curled up in his lap, purring dutifully. Any other time, Caduceus would have smiled. Now he can only exhale, slowly, and blink until his eyes adjust to the light. Caleb swallows when Caduceus looks at him. 

“Any minute now,” he whispers, his voice ragged. Caduceus glances out the nearest porthole, where the last dregs of night are ceding to day. He inhales, deep and steady, and turns to Fjord. 

Fjord looks more peaceful than Caduceus remembers. This is not comforting. Peace and death are often the same, if one is lucky. But the wound has closed—slowly, so slowly, too slowly?—lichen grew where Fjord’s skin should be. It clotted his blood and reshaped his arteries and set his ribs back into his chest. The result is a verdant scab that still glows faintly with magic. 

_Please_ , Caduceus prays, one last time, as Caleb holds his breath and Frumpkin goes silent and the first glittering rays of dawn cut across the sea. _Just, please._

.

.

.

.

.

.

Fjord’s first breath is a whisper. Caleb doesn’t see it, but Caduceus does. Fjord’s next breath is stronger. The lichen moves with him. Caleb slumps forward, grabbing absently for Fjord’s hand, pressing scar to scar. Fjord’s third breath is a gasp. Pain drives him upright, his newly-alive body only able to register _hurt._ Caduceus braces his arm across Fjord’s shoulders to urge him down. 

“Careful, Fjord, it’s okay, but you’ll tear something if you move like that. Just lay back.” 

“Fuck,” Fjord hisses. It’s the most beautiful sound Caduceus had ever heard. Fjord writhes, grasping at his chest. “Holy shit, oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck me that hurts. Hoooo boy! What the fuck??” He dissolves into coughing. Caleb lends his meager weight to help push Fjord down to a reclined position, where he’s supported by pillows as he blinks, gold eyes still bleary. 

“Breathe,” Caleb insists, dragging Fjord’s hand away so his claws don’t ruin the organic scab holding him together. “Slow, Fjord, breathe.” 

Caduceus looks up just in time to see Beau burst through the door, followed closely by the others. 

“It worked,” Beau says, staring at Fjord with awe and fury. Fjord is lucky enough to have his eyes screwed shut, still battling the pain his body remembers killing him. 

“Jester,” Caduceus asks, trying not to sound as hollow and exhausted as he feels. “Can you…? I’m just, I don’t have anything-” 

“Of course, of course. Oh, Fjord.” 

Caleb steps aside to let Jester close. She takes Fjord’s face between her hands and kisses his forehead, muttering a healing spell close to his skin until his pain fades and he relaxes. 

“Fuck,” he croaks. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Beau snaps. Yasha swats at her with a gentle fist. Fjord’s eyes are open but still unfocused. 

“Uhh.” He clears his throat. “I’m, uh…” 

“Here.” Caduceus passes him a waterskin. “Take it easy. Everything’s fixed, technically, but raw.” 

“You can say that again,” Fjord mutters. He drinks slowly, and when his gaze lands on Caduceus again his eyes are clear. “Thanks.” 

“Any time—actually, no. One time only would be ideal. This was awful.” 

Fjord chuckles, then winces, and trails off in a string of muttered curses as he tips his head back to rest against the pillows. 

“I’ll bandage you, then you should sleep some more,” Caduceus says. Which is much better than what he wants to say—actually, he’s not sure what he wants to say. His head is a stormy, roiling sea. He gets flashes of words, of feelings, but they churn under dark waves before he can examine them. 

“We should all sleep,” Caleb adds, assessing his friends’ weary, battle-worn expressions. “The crew can keep us out of trouble for a few hours, at least.” 

“Can we stay here?” Jester asks. There’s a long moment of silence before Fjord realizes they're waiting for him to respond. 

“Oh,” he blinks. “Uh, yeah, I guess, I mean, s’ a small bed, so I don’t know how- annddd Jester’s gone.” 

“We’ll bring the other beds,” Yasha explains, trailing after Jester when she darts into the hall. The others leave too, allowing Caduceus to dress Fjord’s wounds in privacy. 

~

“There. Is that comfortable?” 

Fjord glances down at his chest, which is now wrapped in gauze and protected by enough bandages to keep everything in place while he finishes healing. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

Caduceus nods. He stands and stretches. His fingertips knock against the low ceiling. Fjord lays back gingerly, squirming until he’s comfortable. 

“Hey, Cad?” 

“Hm?” Caduceus rubs his eyes, which ache from a sleepless night and throb in time to the headache that had set in once his magic was exhausted. 

“No offense, but you look like shit.” 

It’s Caduceus’ turn to blink. Owlish. Adrift. Feeling vaguely like he might cry for reasons he doesn’t understand. 

“C’mere.” Fjord shifts, making room for Caduceus on the cot. Caduceus falters. “C’mon,” Fjord cajoles, hiding his nerves behind a smile. “You spent all night pullin’ me back from the dead, so settle in before the rest of those chucklefucks get back here and fight you for the primo spot.” 

How is Caduceus supposed to say no to that?

The aforementioned chucklefucks haul in the flimsy ship mattresses, supplement them with bedrolls and blankets and nest down with cooperation learned from nights spent in the bubble of Caleb’s tiny hut. Caduceus falls asleep easy. He’s dead tired, of course, but he also knows what it is to sleep beside Fjord—not this close, of course; the pulse of warmth from Fjord’s body is new, and welcome, but Caduceus steers his rambling thoughts away from that—but the cadence of his breathing, the smell of him, the way he shifts to get comfortable is all familiar enough that Caduceus feels safe. 

They’re roomies—amigos, Fjord had said once. 

Of course. 

~ ~ ~

The others filter out hours later, but none wake Caduceus. Maybe because he’s entwined too completely with Fjord to be roused without disturbing the half-orc, maybe because Beau glares daggers at Nott when she reaches out to try. When Fjord wakes next the light in the cabin is low and Caduceus is snoring softly, his head is pillowed on Fjord’s chest and his arm is draped carefully over Fjord’s stomach. Fjord inhales, deep, steady. He clears his throat on instinct and it’s louder than he means it to be. He winces when Caduceus jerks awake. 

“Hey there,” Fjord says, trying and failing to sound casual. 

“Oh. Hello.” Caduceus is slow to remember how many of the past 24 hours were real and how many were nightmares. His mouth tastes of salt and dead things (not the pleasant kind), his muscles ache in a way that tells him he overexerted himself in more ways than physically, and his ears are plugged by both the sound of water and actual water, somehow. 

“How d’ya feel?” 

Caduceus hums. Pops his ears. Deflects. “I’m pretty sure I should be asking you that.” 

“Well,” Fjord itches at the hem of his bandage, earning a low rumble of caution from the cleric draped over him. “One of us spent all night after a battle healing his dumbass friend, and one of us had a really weird dream and some heartburn, so, actually, I think I get to ask you.” 

“There was far too much water splashing around for your heart to be set on fire.” 

Fjord snorts, then winces. Caduceus smiles, but it fades quickly. He realizes he should get up. It’s really not necessary for him to keep holding Fjord, especially since the others have taken their leave. But Fjord is warm, and the ship is rocking them gently, and Caduceus just can’t make himself move yet. 

“Seriously though…” Fjord absently smooths a lock of Caduceus’ hair back. “Are you okay?” 

“Mhm.” Caduceus' shaky exhale suggests otherwise but he hopes Fjord won’t notice. “Just tired.”

“Me too.” 

Caduceus takes a moment, a deep breath, and starts to rise. Fjord’s arm tightens on his shoulders. 

“Uh.” Fjord’s throat clicks dryly as he swallows. “You can stay, if you want.” 

“...Oh?” 

“Yeah, I mean, probably best anyways, right? In case something weird goes wrong?” Fjord knows that Caduceus knows that they both know how slim the chance of failure is now, so many hours out from salvation. The Wildmother does not do half-hearted work. But Caduceus doesn’t say so. Fjord keeps talking.

“There’s no reason for you to sleep on a stool or the floor. So...if you like.” 

“I’m not opposed,” Caduceus says with a small smile that grows when Fjord rolls his eyes and groans good naturedly. They settle down again, and if it’s a little closer this time, a little firmer, a little warmer, neither mention it. 

When Beau comes in later to see if either of them want dinner, Caduceus’ hand is resting over Fjord’s heart. Fjord wakes briefly, just breaching sleep when the door creaks open, but Caduceus hums, low and comforting, and Fjord relaxes into him again. 

Beau lingers, just for a moment, just until Caduceus' ear flicks towards her in what is both an acknowledgement and an assurance. Fjord is okay. Caduceus has him. Beau closes the door and makes a silent promise to ensure they sleep uninterrupted.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer that I have not listened to CR since E40 because I have no attention span. I glanced at the wiki. I see a lot of (amazing) fan art. I want Fjord to have a happy ending. 
> 
> Technically this is a thank you to @thefleshmaze on twitter for his art of my bird cleric! 
> 
> (This is my first fic ever, unless you count the quickly aborted efforts of my middle school self to write a mortal instruments self insert. So...be gentle?)


End file.
